Winter Syndrome, By Dawn Summers
by Sparrowinsky
Summary: (Written just after Wrecked)-- what if the newest evil in Sunnydale was one of the Scoobies' own? Dawn's POV.


  
Title: Winter Syndrome, By Dawn Summers.   
Author: Haisley   
Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don't own. Surprise surprise.   
Written just after I saw Wrecked...unfortunately, that's the last episode I watched all the way through, so there may be some inconsistancies (well, aside from it being an AU in general...) ...what if Willow's magical addiction wasn't seen in time?

* * *

Winter is when everything is quiet. It used to be full of laughter, of candy, Christmas lights and kisses. Well, not kisses for me, of course, but hey, at least for some. Like Buffy. Buffy always seemed to have someone to kiss, Angel or Riley or Spike or..._anyone_, any of those boys that fell head over heels with my sister the Slayer.   
  
Winter was when we went to the ice rink, and I sat and watched Buffy skate, and Daddy was still there, when he still _cared_. When Mommy was still there. It was begging for cotton candy, for chocolate bars, for whatever the cavity-candy of the day was. Stumbling on the ice, trying with all my childish might to match my sister's graceful moves. And then, at night, curled up with Mommy, listening to her voice, gently falling asleep...   
  
Of course, those aren't my real memories. The memories of my family and friends' were viewed, discussed, and shoved into the brain of this body of mine, changed to my point of view. Or something. Whatever they did, I don't know, and really, I don't care. I'm through with the self destructive phase, with caring about what I was before I was Dawn Summers. I don't need it anymore. There's enough tearing me up inside without it.   
  
It used to be when The Scooby Gang version 937-- that's a conservative estimate-- would stuff ourselves with a big dinner and watch silly, stupid genre movies…although I have to admit, better Christmas flicks than Halloween. It was when we laughed. It used to be coordinating my trips to the kitchen with Tara's, and catching her beneath the mistletoe, and wishing I had the guts…   
  
That's it. That's the difference, why it always seems so cold and empty now…winter used to be laughing.   
  
Then Christmas Eve came, and my present was _(No)_ Buffy's _(oh god)_ head on my _(it didn't happen)_ dresser. I didn't even see it, at first- Tara says it's sort of like selective hearing, my mind protecting me from the trauma of it…   
  
She was supposed to be out patrolling. It should have been easy; vamp activity had been almost nothing. A piece of cake.   
  
Yeah. A _(goddamn)_ piece of _(stupid frigging)_ cake. The worst _(stupid stupid stupid)_ set-up line in the book.   
  
I was crying, I remember- well, not so much crying as _(oh no no no no)_ screams punctuated with _(tearing at me)_ sobs, and not so much actually remembering as holding a crossbow to Spike's chest and making him tell me. I don't remember much else, just her head...sitting there..._(no)_ dripping _(oh god)_ and blood _(everywhere, it's everywhere)_, god, so much blood.   
  
We sold that house-- not home, never home again-- within days. Willow, Tara and I moved into Xander's place. Funny, you know, the Social Worker that got sent over never even seemed to realize that Xander was way, way too young to be my father. I still haven't figured out whether that was Willow's doing, or Tara's. Even without Anya there, it was a crunch, for a long time. Let me tell you something: sun or rain, apocalypses or resurrections or mayors turning into demons or finding your only sister's _head_-- the Sunnydale school system does not fail.   
  
Too bad you can't say the same for me.   
  
My grades totally sucked from then on. I just didn't care anymore. I still don't. I did make a small effort, after a year or so, but only because--   
  
Only because I wanted to kill myself when she sat at the table, and stared at my straight-F report card and _cried_.   
  
I wish, I dearly, truly wish I could go back in time and strangle whoever decided to put any holidays in December, January, or February, let alone three.   
  
New Years was inheriting all of Giles' belongings, and seeing those pictures _(it can't be)_ and yeah, that's Rupert Giles, and you mean he's _(not again)_...dead...?   
  
Valentine's Day found Xander and Anya's mangled bodies at the magic shop. I don't ever want to know what it took to bring down a Vengeance Demon, to make her look that…destroyed. For a long time I couldn't even walk into a grocery store without seeing them laying on the floor in a twisted version of a lover's embrace   
  
But it wasn't until last year that my world truly fell apart. Okay, yes, almost everybody I had ever cared about was dead. Yes, I found Buffy, I found Xander and Anya. Yes, I had to identify Giles who was pretty much the major father figure in my life for about five or six years running. I'd been reduced to a constantly weeping, almost catatonic mess, yeah, and the only thing that kept me from killing myself was Tara _(what if)_ and Willow _(it was)_ and Spike _(my fault)_. They grounded me. I knew, somewhere in that swirly green subconscious of mine, that I hadn't lost everything. Not quite. Not yet.   
  
Three minutes before the New Year, quietly _(painfully)_ celebrating in Spike's crypt (not something he was particularly happy about), Willow smiled, and stood, and said she had a present for us all. We went outside. Damnit, it was a graveyard, it was the middle of the night, were we really that stupid, that naive? And then snow fell, and Willow- she was so pale, how is it that we never noticed?- laughed, and it just kept falling...it was cold snow, not that snow isn't cold anyway, but this wasn't simply frozen water falling from the sky, this was magic. And still, we didn't suspect. It wasn't until we were surrounded by her minions, until Tara _(never as good never as powerful never be able to beat her)_ was slammed against a headstone _(I can hear snapping and cracking oh god she's gonna die she's broken she's dying)_ until Rack grabbed me and _(ripping)_ tried to steal my life _(my power)_ and _(it hurts it hurts it hurts)_-- --and _she just laughed_.   
  
I still don't know how we survived. Probably because she wanted us to. She let us escape. It was almost a bigger insult, that we weren't even worth destruction. We were nothing to her anymore. The only thing truly clear in my memory is Spike half-dragging me back into the crypt, Tara unconscious in his arms. He almost got dusted that night, fighting our way through Willow's creatures.   
  
Now winter is me curled up in Tara's bed, holding her, praying she'll wake up _(she'll never wake up)_. Winter is sobbing myself to sleep in Spike's crypt, in Spike's arms, pretending the limbs wrapped around me are warm and human and _alive_. But Tara's the only warm one left.   
  
_(Because I'm alive I know I am he says he can hear my heart beating, pounding so fast and I can't be dead I know I'm not dead but I'm…so…cold…)_   
  
It still snows. It's like The Lion, The Witch, & The Wardrobe, and Willow's the Queen. It never stops snowing. It's always winter _(forever)_.   
  
It never used to be this quiet.   
  
_

Winter Syndrome   
By Dawn Summers   
  
It's called the Winter Syndrome.   
When you watch the snow outside.   
It's a known and classified disease   
When you pretend that you're alive   
It's called the Winter Syndrome   
And that's the rub, don't you see   
I created Winter Syndrome   
'Cause it troubles only me   
Every day I'm at the window   
To watch the snow outside   
Everyday I hold your hand   
And pretend that I'm alive.

_   
  
_Fini._


End file.
